


you wanted to see the stars

by Chocolatpen



Series: Haikyuu Jukebox [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Depression, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, Self-Harm, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26067016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatpen/pseuds/Chocolatpen
Summary: Enigma /ɪˈnɪɡmə/.Noun.A person or thing that is mysterious or difficult to understand.Bokuto Koutarou is an enigma.He is also Akaashi’s boyfriend, which makes things… hard.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Series: Haikyuu Jukebox [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892254
Comments: 3
Kudos: 80





	you wanted to see the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!!
> 
> This is a songfic inspired by [Rooftop by N.Flying](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VpaUh_BGqE0) and it's probably the closest I've ever come to writing fluff lmao
> 
> Please take note of the warnings/tags! This story deals with **depression and self-harm,** so tread carefully and stop if you feel like you're getting triggered. This work is not beta-read, but I do try my best to edit it :)
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this! Please do leave some kudos/comments if you do :D 
> 
> I love hearing what y'all think <3

“Akaashi, I want to see the stars!”

Bokuto slowly intertwines their fingers. His hand is warm and calloused, and it fits perfectly against Akaashi’s as he drags them through moss green corridors. The water stains blend together, dark mold disappearing in a blur as they pound across the rotten wooden floor.

They burst into the fire escape, footsteps clanging noisily against rusting metal, and start climbing up to the rooftop.

Bokuto’s grasp is constant. His fingers flex and wriggle in anticipation, but they never let go.

The sun is a mere red blimp on the horizon when they emerge onto the ratty rooftop. Periwinkle and midnight blue mingle just above it, pressing relentlessly down on the last vestiges of day.

Akaashi works at the convenience store at the junction between a coffee house and a ramen shop. He’s usually on the night shift, so he watches the world around him through shopfront reflections.

Re-organizing the magazines by the clear glass windows is Akaashi’s favourite part of the night.

Sometimes, Akaashi thumbs through old manga issues. He flips through other copies, eyes the models’ flamboyant hairstyles and wonders when he’ll have saved enough money to go to a real hair salon.

But the real magic makes Akaashi stand there for hours on end, till the next customer comes in for a late-night snack or a quick trip to the health and beauty aisle. He stands there, and sometimes he looks to the right, where the bright Shibuya lights twinkle like the last dying flame of a red giant. Other times, he looks left, to the muted darkness of Yoyogi and the yellow lanterns lighting the heritage street.

It’s almost like being stuck between two worlds, like for the moment time has stopped and Akaashi can focus on not being all there.

The feeling doesn’t last long enough. It never does.

But Akaashi is fine with that, if he’s able to stare out into the empty streets and contemplate the hollowness in his own chest.

Enigma /ɪˈnɪɡmə/. _Noun_. A person or thing that is mysterious or difficult to understand.

Bokuto Koutarou is an enigma.

He is also Akaashi’s boyfriend, which makes things hard.

“Hey, hey, hey, Akaashi!” Bokuto cries, barreling into Akaashi so fast he almost drops his bag of instant food from the convenience store. “I missed you!”

Bokuto smells like sweat and dust, but Akaashi still leans into the hug. It’s too warm, too soft, too much like home for him to resist.

“I saw you just this morning, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi mumbles. He inhales deeply, right by the juncture of Bokuto’s neck, and breathes in what is essentially _Bokuto_.

“Yeah, but I missed you anyway,” Bokuto declares. His arms tighten almost imperceptibly, and Akaashi wonders if it’s possible to love someone more by the day.

They pull away from each other just as they reach for each other.

Bokuto relieves Akaashi of his bags, and Akaashi thumbs away the smear of coal on Bokuto’s cheek.

Bokuto works construction. He’s built big and strong, so he likes to joke that he’s made for it, but Akaashi knows better.

In another world, another life, Bokuto would have been someone who chased after his passion instead of settling for something stable.

In another world, another life, Bokuto would have spent his money on booze and crappy cup noodles, instead of bottles upon bottles of pills.

In another world, another life, Bokuto wouldn’t have chosen Akaashi.

In another world, another life, Bokuto would have been happy.

“Oya, Oya,” Kuroo calls, when he spots them. He’s leaning against a traffic post, hands crossed over his chest, while Kenma is fiddling with his game beside him. “Look who finally decided to show up!”

“Kuroo, my bro!” Bokuto shouts, drawing a few stares as he sprints towards the pair.

Akaashi rolls his eyes, _fondly_ , and follows after at a more subdued pace.

It’s Tuesday night, right before Akaashi’s shift, and they’re having a double date at one of the more cozy family restaurants near Harajuku. It’s a western izakaya, which is nice because Akaashi hasn’t had much else other than onigiri and microwave bento for weeks.

“Doesn’t the food look so good, Akaashi?” Bokuto pipes up from behind his menu. His leg is bouncing aggressively underneath the table, so Akaashi slips his hand over his boyfriend’s thick thigh and squeezes.

“Yes, it does, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, smiling slightly when Bokuto’s leg falls still.

“You know, you can always ask for help,” Kuroo says, quietly. Bokuto has taken to harassing Kenma about the games stacked on the shelves. He wants to know which ones Kenma has played, which ones Kenma owns, which ones Kenma’s already beaten.

At the counter, the bored part-timer rolls his eyes and returns to his half-rolled manga.

“We’re doing fine, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi replies, equally as quiet. Money is tight, but they’re not starving.

  
They’re not desperate.

“It’s hard seeing the two of you like this,” Kuroo sighs, after a moment. His eyes trail to the white peppering Akaashi’s hair, the tired bags under his eyes, the sickly pallor of his skin. “I know you’re not… struggling, but it would be nice if you could take a break from time to time.”

Akaashi purses his lips, nods, and leaves before he’s late for his job.

Akaashi has days off, sometimes. Or rather nights off.

It’s nice because then at least he can make breakfast for Bokuto and pack a nice bento for his lunch. It’s nice because he can do all this and then return to bed to sleep off the sunlight.

It’s also nice because then, when Bokuto is back and they’ve had their dinner, Akaashi can pretend to go to sleep at a normal time; cuddling up to his boyfriend and melting into reassuring arms.

  
And later – when Bokuto is deep asleep, silver hair strewn messily on his pillow as the soft moonlight streams in through their window – Akaashi is free is stroke gentle fingers down Bokuto’s cheek and admire the blazing star he calls ‘mine’.

Akaashi yawns into his hand, blinking blearily as he struggles to fit his key in his doorknob. When the lock finally clicks and Akaashi stumbles into his home, he doesn’t expect the silent darkness. Bokuto should be up, getting ready to get to work. Sometimes, he’s up even earlier for his morning runs.

Then, Akaashi trips over a lump on the floor that he’s sure had not been there before.

The lump stirs, and then settles.

Akaashi frowns.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, crouching down. “How are you feeling?”

Bokuto remains still, contentedly buried beneath a few old blankets, and Akaashi feels like the hollowness of his heart is eating him whole.

Sometimes, Bokuto behaves like a planet that has gotten knocked out of its orbit.

Gravity is powerful and dangerous, and yet Bokuto continues to stray away from warm sun rays. He inches closer and closer towards the deep darkness of a black hole Akaashi cannot save him from.

And yet, Akaashi is unable to blame Bokuto for straying from the path because Bokuto never means to lose his way.

Time after time, Bokuto is distracted by too-loud thoughts and the wet sadness constricting his lungs. He mopes and acts like his own body is weighing him down, and in those times Akaashi has no idea what he should do.

“Why were you so sad all day?” Akaashi asks, once he’s coerced Bokuto off the floor and onto their ratty couch.

“…I don’t know,” Bokuto mumbles. He hugs his legs to his chest, and in that moment, he seems much smaller than he is.

Akaashi sighs.

Bokuto flinches, as though Akaashi could ever be truly disappointed in him.

“I know you do so much to help me, Akaashi,” Bokuto starts, in a shaky ramble. His lip wobbles. “I know I should be better. I’ve been taking my pills, but- I don’t know why, I just-”

“I know, Koutarou,” Akaashi soothes, eager to atone for his mistake. He presses forward and envelops trembling broad shoulders with his own, stick-thin arms. “It’s okay.”

It doesn’t seem like much comfort at all, but Bokuto sinks right into his hold.

When the flowers lose their fragrance and the sunny sky turns grey – that’s when Bokuto starts pushing Akaashi away.

“Why are you still here?” Bokuto says. There’s something defeated in his voice. “Why do you act like this is okay, like I’m not ruining your life?”

Akaashi ignores him. He walks into their bedroom, sure-footed, and places the tray of leftover yakiniku and rice on their peeling side table.

The good thing about working at the convenience store is all the food Akaashi gets to take home at the end of the day.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto cries, “You should just go! Go back to your parents. Go back to school! You’re so smart Akaashi, you- you don’t need me. And _I_ don’t need you!”

Akaashi lowers himself onto the bed. It squeaks noisily, a broken spring hard against his thigh.

“Do you really mean that?” Akaashi finally says, peering into Bokuto’s red-rimmed eyes.

“Yes!” Bokuto nods, and shoves Akaashi backwards for good measure. It’s weak, considering Bokuto’s size and strength, and Akaashi shakes his head.

“You’re lying, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. He leans in and winds his arms around Bokuto’s waist, props his chin atop Bokuto’s shoulder and presses a kiss to the sharp edge of his jaw.

Bokuto’s hands fist in Akaashi’s sweater.

“You don’t want to be alone, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi murmurs, patting Bokuto’s back gently as the bigger man hiccups a sob. “And I won’t leave you, not while that’s true.”

Old scars mark up Bokuto’s arms, raised lines of pale flesh that start at his wrists and crawl up past his elbows. Some are razor-thin, others as thick as Akaashi’s last finger.

They are straight vectors of anger and hopelessness, jagged and deep like Bokuto wanted to carve the melancholy out of his body. They are outlines of constellations only Bokuto can see, mapped out with pain and blood and the need for control.

They are symbols of Akaashi’s failures, stark fissures marking up the one person Akaashi values the most. The one person that could never be ugly, not even with the stain of sadness forever engraved into his being.

Akaashi cradles Bokuto’s hand in his own, sweaty grip, and runs his finger over the new red slashes that have come to join the others.

Every single one is a painful pang to his heart.

They log into Kuroo’s Netflix on Akaashi’s old laptop from way back in high school. The thing is barely functioning now, but the battery lasts long enough for a movie, at least.

Bokuto chooses Finding Nemo, because of course he does. He loves Disney.

Halfway through the movie, Akaashi’s attention drifts away from the screen. He presses his cheek against the arm Bokuto has draped over his shoulders, stares at the flecks of light dancing in Bokuto’s eyes and flashing on his strong features.

“You’re so special, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, because he thinks that Bokuto needs to know. “Did you know?”

Bokuto laughs heartily, and it warms Akaashi so much they might not even have to pay for heating when winter sets in for good.

“Thank you, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto says, drawing Akaashi even closer into his side. “Thank you for staying.”

Kuroo throws a party, which is nothing new.

Akaashi and Bokuto decide to go, which is new.

“Do my eyes deceive me?!” Kuroo shouts, from across the crowded apartment.

“Nope!” Bokuto grins, tugging Akaashi by the hand. Akaashi rolls his eyes.

Kuroo’s apartment is nothing like theirs. Kuroo actually went to University, for one, and now he’s some fancy marketing person, so his building actually has security and a working lift.

Bokuto assimilates himself into the party easily, but Akaashi prowls along the edges and sips quietly at his drink. He has never liked big crowds, so on these occasions, it’s usually best to find Kenma and stick to him like glue.

Kenma doesn’t usually mind, since Akaashi is pretty quiet. They get along well.

“That’s funny,” someone says, as they slink by. “Didn’t know Kuroo invited high school kids.”

It’s a man, and his hair is the same colour as the moldy walls in Akaashi’s apartment complex. His eyes are narrowed, lips quirked upwards in interest.

Akaashi makes a face that should effectively convey his disdain, then turns around to head back where he came from. He’s aware that he and Bokuto don’t look like everyone else. He’s aware that baseball caps and ripped jeans don’t fit in with polished oxfords and smart polos.

He’s _aware_.

“Hey, don’t go,” the man chases after him and grabs onto his arm. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“No, you did,” Kenma says, coming to stand by Akaashi. He looks bored, like this is something he deals with a lot. “Go away, Daishou.”

Daishou scoffs, but he leaves and Akaashi is grateful.

“Streaming,” Kenma says, once the alcohol has loosened his lips and relaxed his shoulders. “It’s good money. I could give you a shout-out, just to help you start out.”

Kenma has always loved games, and Akaashi is glad that he’s able to chase his passion and earn a more than decent living doing it, but a life like that just doesn’t seem like something Akaashi could ever hope to achieve.

Akaashi has been taking care of Bokuto for as long as he can remember. He makes sure that they have enough money for Bokuto’s monthly doses, as costly as they are, and he picks up the slack on the days, weeks, months, Bokuto loses the will to live.

“Thank you, but I don’t have the time as it is,” Akaashi smiles, glancing towards where Bokuto and Kuroo are singing badly into Kuroo’s karaoke machine. “Bokuto-san and my job keep me busy. It’s been years since I’ve played a game or anything.”

“Years?” Kenma echoes.

Akaashi nods and turns his gaze to his friend. “If Kuroo- if he needed it, wouldn’t you give up your games for him?”

There’s no reply, but Akaashi doesn’t need one. Instead, he just watches as Kenma’s brows furrow like he’s surprised at his silent, sure answer.

“Why?” Akaashi asks. He feels numb now, past the disappointment and pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” Bokuto cries, rocking himself back and forth. He’s on the floor, old pajamas stained with blood. “I know you’re upset; I know you don’t like it when I-”

“Then why do you still do it?” Akaashi feels his lip wobble. His eyes are stinging. His heart feels like it’s cracked into pieces. “You know _I don’t_ _like_ _it_ , but you still hurt yourself like this.”

Bokuto is speechless, mute against the boiling anger in Akaashi’s gut. He hangs his head, and when his hands curl into fists, blood comes in even thicker streaks down his forearms.

_Selfish_. Akaashi spits, in his mind. But Akaashi is also selfish, because he would do anything for Bokuto – despite the fact that Bokuto doesn’t even want it.

So Akaashi exhales. It’s long and his entire being trembles, but he steels himself and storms into the kitchen.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto calls, unsure.

Akaashi ignores him, and the soft padding of socked feet on the ground. He reaches for one of the knives in their cheap set from Target, closes his eyes, and slices the blade against the skin of his forearm.

There’s the white, hot burning of flesh splitting apart, and then Bokuto is there.

He knocks the knife out of Akaashi’s grasp, struggling with his words as a cocktail of anger and sadness and _fear_ swirl in big, glassy golden eyes.

“Akaashi, you,” Bokuto stutters. He looks betrayed, now, and there are tears beading on his eyelashes and rolling down his cheeks. “Why would you-?”

“Do you feel it?” Akaashi says, eyes trailing from the blood dripping onto the floor and back to his boyfriend. “Does your heart ache?”

Akaashi accepts that he doesn’t truly understand all of Bokuto – not even after all these years, after all the mental lists and the life they share.

But that’s okay, because Bokuto is his own person.

Bokuto is much more than just his prescription. He’s much more than just the sum of his weaknesses, and he’s much more than even the goofy man Akaashi fell in love with.

Bokuto is just so much more, and Akaashi knows that he deserves more than just convenience store food and a run-down apartment on the bad side of town.

“Oya, oya,” Kuroo’s voice comes through the phone a little tinny, but the old Nokia is the only thing Akaashi can afford. “Who do we have here!”

“Kuroo-san,” Akaashi says. “I need your help.”

Akaashi knows that it’s going to take a long time for him to repay Kuroo for all he’s done for them, but it still feels like liberation when he hands in his resignation.

“What?” Bokuto’s eyes are wide, when Akaashi slides a University pamphlet across the table. Akaashi swallows, and then places his acceptance letter on top of it.

  
There’s a long moment of silence between them, before Bokuto surges forward and crushes Akaashi to his chest.

“I’m so happy for you, ‘Kaashi!” Bokuto is almost fierce as he says it, like he can hardly contain his pride. Then, he draws back, holding Akaashi by the shoulders so he can look into his face. “You’re so- so _good_.”

Akaashi smiles back, and the heavy weight he’s carried around all these years slowly dissipates to nothing.

“Akaashi, I want to see the stars!” Bokuto says. His smile is blinding, and Akaashi doesn’t have it in him to refuse even though his nose is running and his fingers are frozen stiff.

They stand on the roof together, between the billowing white sheets their neighbour must have forgotten to take in.

Bokuto slips his fingers between Akaashi’s, his skin glacial but his touch warm.

There’s not a single star in the sky, at least none Akaashi can see through the thick city smog, but that’s alright. Because his entire universe is already standing before him, in the form of a boy with cuts on his arms and eyes like molten gold.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, wetting his lips. “You’re everything to me, so, please. Keep shining brightly.”

Bokuto pulls Akaashi against him, presses Akaashi’s face into his worn puffer jacket. Akaashi can still smell the faint remnants of the coffee Bokuto spilled on it two days before.

“That’s not fair, Akaashi,” Bokuto says. Something wet drops onto Akaashi’s exposed neck, and Akaashi wonders if it’s started snowing. “You’re so unfair.”

Akaashi knows. He knows that he’s tethering Bokuto down into a life he doesn’t necessarily want to live out.

But Akaashi also knows that this is better than watching Bokuto drift off into the endless infinity, better than coming home one day to the destruction of his world.

Even if that means Bokuto resents him for it.

{End}

**Author's Note:**

> I really missed writing Akaashi :")
> 
> As always, you can contact me on Tumblr or visit my profile for updates on my activity!


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